


i'll see you (in the future)

by huphilpuffs



Series: pff bingo 2018 [6]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Dailybooth, Linguistics, M/M, Philosophy, Psychic Abilities, University, tbh I really don't know what to tag this it has so many prompts thrown in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 05:39:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16423454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huphilpuffs/pseuds/huphilpuffs
Summary: Dan's a philosophy major who Phil would really like to talk to (and who makes his brain sometimes show him the future).





	i'll see you (in the future)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Phandom Fic Fests bingo fest, as a blackout fic for [this](https://huphilpuffs.tumblr.com/private/179471843596/tumblr_ph8o35iNy41w5f4wr) bingo card.

 

Phil’s head feels all muddled when he stumbles into Starbucks.

His _English Word and Sentence Structure_ professor’s voice is still echoing in his head, saying something about commas and semicolons that will have him pouring over a textbook later in a feeble attempt to make sense of it all. He has a notebook full of scribbles in one hand and a pen poking his palm in the other and he lingers in the doorway for a long moment.

It takes Phil a moment to remember why he’s there. He trips over his own feet on his way to stand in line and a girl he’s pretty sure is in a year below him looks up from her laptop to glare.

He offers a crooked smile so she looks away.

A few moments later, a barista is shoving a paper cup into the hand with the pen and Phil’s gaze is drifting from the service bar to the seats littered around the cafe.

It’s full. This Starbucks is the closest to campus and on weekdays it’s always full of students with too much caffeine in their system and too many impending papers weighing on their shoulders. There’s an empty chair at a two-person table in the corner, but the other seat is occupied by a stranger. There’s an empty table between two full ones, but there’s a bag sitting on it and Phil doesn’t care to ask who’s it is.

He almost leaves with his latte. He could catch a bus back to Rawtenstall and hide in his bedroom for the rest of the day, trying to understand the theoretical models of English morphology.

The back of his head starts to ache at just the thought.

And then his gaze trips over the sofas at the edge of the room that are usually brimming with people. One is, with a boy and a girl sitting on his lap, and another boy talking to them. But the other, in the very corner of the room, has just one person on it.

A person Phil actually knows.

Well, knows _of._ But he’s pretty sure the boy knows of him, too.

He walks over, even though his shirt feels crooked and his stuff is still awkwardly stuffed into his hands.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” he asks.

Dan looks up, and tugs an earbud from one ear. “Here?” he asks.

Phil nods. Dan offers half a smile.

“Sure, whatever, go ahead.”

\---

They don’t talk.

Phil tries to make sense of his grammar notes and every time he looks up, Dan’s gaze is locked intently on some sort of academic-looking paper he’s reading on his laptop. Phil wants to ask what it’s about. The words well in his chest and squirm in his stomach and he swallows them back with a sip of his latte.

They don’t talk. It’s not what they do.

They have matching haircuts and similar interests and follow each other on social media and have a handful of mutual friends.

Well, mutual acquaintances. It happens when you’re in the same year at uni.

Dan stands up when he’s done his coffee. He shoves his laptop into his bag and tugs his earbuds from his head, crushing them into a ball that Phil’s certain will be full of knots later.

“I’ll see you around?” says Dan.

He’s staring at Phil with the same half-smile he did earlier, and something in Phil’s gut coils tight.

He swallows. His vision’s going blurry, and then Dan’s staring at him with a wider smile and a dimple denting each cheek. His hair’s shorter and curly and his eyes look brighter and the Starbucks Phil knows they’re in seems to have disappeared.

Phil feels himself gasp. He blinks, and the image fades back to Dan staring at him with a furrow between his brows.

“You okay?” says Dan.

Phil’s stomach feels even tighter now, almost nauseous.

“Yeah, sorry,” he manages, swallowing again. “I’ll see you around.”

\---

That night, Phil sits in his room with a textbook splayed over his sheets and his totally-not-distracting laptop on his thighs.

He reads a page of the book, something about derivational affixes having different classes and how to tell the difference between them that makes his mind go a little hazy. Then he scribbles something that might be a chart if he cared to make it look okay into his notebook about the differences. And then he rewards himself by refreshing the webpage open on his computer.

A new image shows up on Dailybooth.

Phil’s pen clatters onto his keyboard.

Dan’s staring at the camera, a smirk drawing at the corners of his mouth. It’s a little off-quilter and he seems to be leaning back in his chair and behind him, Phil can see the white walls of a room that matches his own.

His teeth dig into his lip. That tight thing in his stomach is back.

Phil stares at the image for a long time. He blinks once on purpose and once by accident but this time Dan’s hair doesn’t suddenly look curly and Phil can’t suddenly see dimples and that’s good, he thinks.

It’s probably good.

He reads the caption. It’s something about metaphysics and some guy called Sober being confusing and how Dan didn’t expect to need to understand probability theory for a Philosophy degree.

It’s mundane, and easy, and familiar.

Which doesn’t exactly explain why Phil’s heart is still racing.

He frowns, closing the webpage and forcing himself to stop thinking about Dan by reciting derivational affixes in his head.

\---

Phil goes back to Starbucks.

He has a textbook hugged tight to his chest and questions that have nothing to do with linguistics whirring in his mind and the moment he steps into the coffee shop, his gaze flicks to the sofa. His breath catches in his chest, and he looks away, feeling a silly sort of heart bloom across his cheeks.

Dan’s sitting there.

Phil tries not to think of curly hair and dimples.

He gets a caramel macchiato, because the air’s going cold and the sweetness that bursts on his tongue makes homework a little more tolerable. And with a coffee cup in one hand, textbook in the other, Phil makes his way to the sofa where Dan’s sitting with his laptop resting on his thighs.

There’s a twinge of relief that the shop is full again today in his chest. Phil ignores it.

“Hi, do you mind if I sit here again?”

Dan looks up, shrugging one shoulder. “Go ahead.”

So Phil does. He clutches his coffee in one hand and fumbles to open his book with the other, ignoring the prickling at the back of his neck telling him Dan’s watching him. He forces his eyes to stay locked on a heading, something about ways to mark inflection that his brain can’t entirely process.

_Suppletion._

He reads the first example three times before realizing it’s in French.

His fingers drift over the edge of his textbook until a papercut stings his skin. His vision drifts out of focus, into a blurry mess that only slides back into place when he lets himself look at Dan, with straight hair and no smile to make dimples pop and a squinty look on his face that has a silent chuckle bubbling in Phil’s chest.

“Hard to understand?”

Dan jumps, almost knocking his coffee over. “Huh?”

“Your paper,” says Phil, “is it hard to understand?”

“Oh.” Dan looks back at the screen, brows furrowing, and it makes Phil want to squirm in his seat. “Yeah, I guess. Philosopher’s can be pretentious sons of bitches.”

Phil laughs, a little too loudly for a Starbucks full of studying students, feeling his tongue poke out from between his teeth. He brings his hands up to cover his mouth, but not before Dan’s gaze flicks down and the corner of his mouth quirks into an amused smile.

“What about linguistics–uh–ers?”

He muffles another laugh behind his palms. “Linguists?”

“Oh,” says Dan. ”Duh. That makes so much sense.”

His face scrunches up, creasing the corners of his eyes and making his dimples dent his cheeks ever so slightly and something in Phil’s chest goes tight.

He doesn’t think about curls and dimpled smiles. Not for long, anyway.

\---

That night, Phil dreams of Starbucks.

He’s sitting on the same sofa. His hands are warm around his coffee cup and his drink tastes of gingerbread and there’s no textbook spread across his lap. There’s still the quiet chatter of other customers and clicking of keyboards and the whir of coffee machines behind the counter, sweetness on his tongue and Dan sitting next to him.

His hair’s straight. He laughs. Phil’s whole body goes warm.

“Christmas with your family sounds exciting,” says Dan. “Way more fun than mine.”

“Who knows,” Phil hears himself say, “maybe you can stay around here and see it sometime.”

Dan looks up at him, eyes bright.

Phil wakes up with a racing heart and clammy hands.

\---

He runs into Dan a few times in the halls after that.

Way more than he used to, and the frequency of it has anxiety curling in Phil’s gut along with the stupid urge to promise he’s not stalking Dan. And something else, a nervous, happy something that has him swallowing back the words and offering and crooked smile instead.

The first time, Dan’s balancing a box of pizza in one hand. He just smiles at Phil before dipping his head and walking away.

The second time, the clock on Phil’s phone gleams two o’clock and Dan’s wearing pyjamas. His hair’s going wavy at the ends and he blushes in the too-bright lighting of the bathroom when Phil points it out before saying goodnight.

The third time, Phil’s playing Animal Crossing on his DS in the dining hall when Dan sits down across from him, nothing but toast on his plate, and smiles.

“What are you playing?” he asks, nodding towards Phil’s hands.

“Oh.” Phil feels his cheeks heat. It feels lame when he says, “Animal Crossing.”

Dan doesn’t seem to think it’s lame. His smile cracks across his face and both his dimples pop and that twisting in Phil’s stomach is back.

“I love that game. It’s so calming, isn’t it?”

Phil nods.

“We should get together sometime,” says Dan, “play some multiplayer. You like Mario Kart?”

Phil nods again. His brain feels too stupid to catch up. Maybe he should go get a second cup of coffee.

“Okay.” He takes a bite of his toast. “Message me on Dailybooth sometime?”

\---

Phil doesn’t message Dan.

He wants to. He opens Dailybooth and lets his mouse hover over the button for a few moments before the nerves make him scroll down the page instead. He does it again the next day, and the next, and after a week part of him is convinced Dan’s offer doesn’t still stand.

And then Dan posts.

Phil’s whole body goes tense.

Dan’s laying back against his pillows in the photo, a smile on his face and one hand up as though he was combing his hair to the side. The room is dark and the photo’s a little blurry and Dan’s eyes look so dark and happy and _soft_ that Phil can’t help but stare.

For a really, stupidly long time.

Until the image starts to change, and Phil can feel his mind working, and suddenly Dan’s face looks even – _fuck_ – softer, his cheeks a little rounder, his hair a little shorter. He’s leaning back against a sofa with his laptop on his stomach and turns to look at Phil and smiles and –

Phil blinks, his laptop coming back into focus. His heart is racing again, and he forces himself to look away from the photo and read the caption.

_:)_

_sorry for bad quality_

_i took this photo just before editing my new video, which can be found hereee_

It ends with a link. Phil only hesitates for a second before clicking it.

Dan’s videos are always kinda weird and philosophical and Phil doesn’t usually understand them. This one’s like that, an explanation of something metaphysical – that’s what Dan calls it – that Phil doesn’t care about enough to wrap his mind around, but watches anyway. The effects, random cuts to clips that don’t make total sense, remind him of some of the videos he’s shared, but better.

He’s pretty sure they’d make sense, if he knew what Dan was talking about.

Or maybe not. He doesn’t really care. That’s not why he watches.

He likes the video, and comments on Dan’s Dailybooth post:

_I think all that philosophy scrambled my brain O_O_

It only takes a moment before a notification appears on his page.

Dan messaged him.

\---

_Dan: don’t scramble your brain too much midterms are coming up_

_Dan: also hi_

Phil smiles, the kind that he feels scrunching up his nose.

_Phil: Don’t remind me >_< _

_Phil: And hi_

It takes a moment for Dan to respond, long enough for Phil to leave the tab because staring at him is making something bubble painfully in his chest. He goes back after a few seconds, to make sure he doesn’t miss Dan’s message.

_Dan: did you actually watch the whole video?_

_Phil: Yeah_

_Dan: do i wanna know what you thought?_

_Phil: It was good! Unique :]_

_Dan: that sounds like what you say when you don’t wanna insult someone_

Phil’s stomach sinks. That thing in his chest gets worse, and he wants to click away and hide but he’s pretty sure that would make Dan feel worse.

_Phil: Not at all!_

_Phil: People call me unique all the time_

He swallows, and fidgets, and stares until his eyes burn.

_Dan: well if people call you unique then it must be a compliment :D_

Phil feels himself smile again.

_Dan: i hate waiting to see what people think_

_Phil: Yeah, that’s the wooorst_

_Dan: wanna come by and play mario kart or something?_

_Dan: save me from this hell_

He feels the words in his stomach, with a rush of something Phil’s not entirely sure he’s felt before, and it makes him bounce on his bed.

His smile widens so much it aches.

_Phil: Yeah sounds fun!_

_Phil: What’s your room?_

_Dan: 118_

\---

Dan’s smiling when he answers the door. His fringe is swept across his forehead and his shirt dips low enough that Phil can see the slight jut of his collarbones and jeans match Phil’s but look so much better on him.

“Hey,” says Dan.

Phil’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth all of a sudden, but he manages a quiet: “Hi.”

“Come in.” Dan steps to side, gives Phil enough space to step into a room that’s almost identical to his own, just a lot less colourful and more covered in clothes. “Sorry about the mess. I really need to do laundry.”

“Cleaning’s overrated.” Phil chuckles.

“Agreed.”

Dan steps over the clothing littering the floor to make his way to his bed. He leans back against the pillows, just like he was in the picture, and offers a small smile that makes Phil’s chest ache.

“You can sit, you know,” he says. “I don’t bite.”

Something twists in Phil’s gut. He tries not to think about it, forcing a laugh that comes out too squeaky and makes self-consciousness prickle across his skin.

Dan just smiles and kicks his mattress as though telling Phil to sit.

So he does, situating himself at the foot of Dan’s bed, crossing his legs and leaning back against the brick wall that matches his own room. His DS feels awkward in his hands. His whole body feels awkward, sharing Dan’s space, his spine too straight and toes starting to tingle because of how he’s sitting.

Dan’s staring at him, brows a little furrowed.

Phil has to focus really hard to keep from squirming under his scrutiny.

And then Dan just shrugs and says: “Did you bring Mario Kart?”

Phil nods.

“Cool,” says Dan. “You can choose the first race.”

\---

Phil wins the first race.

Dan wins the next two.

He screams as he crosses the finish line. It fades into a laugh, his toes jabbing against Phil’s thigh just as Phil manages to finish the race in second place. He drops his DS onto his lap to look up, see the way laughter creases the corner of Dan’s eyes, the way his whole body seems to rumble with glee.

Phil’s not surprised anymore when the world seems to shift.

The brick walls fade to a soft grey. Dan’s bed becomes a black sofa. They have remotes resting on their laps now instead of their DSes and Phil feels certain, looking at this slightly different version of Dan, that this is sometime in the future.

“And there we go, that’s two out of three right there, then,” says Dan.

Phil’s not even sure he means to say it when he says: “No, no no no.”

Dan laughs. His eyes still crinkle in this vague future world and that fact settles, warm, in Phil’s stomach.

When he blinks, the brick walls are back and he’s sitting on a sofa again. Dan’s chuckles have fallen quiet, and he’s staring at Phil from over the top of his DS.

“You disappeared for a moment,” says Dan.

Phil doesn’t know how to explain that Dan didn’t disappear, he just … aged in Phil’s head.

Dan doesn’t make him explain though. He just pokes Phil’s leg with his foot again and says: “Don’t let my Mario Kart skills phase you too much.”

“Don’t get too cocky, Howell.”

Dan’s eyes widen, and for a moment Phil wishes he could shove the words back into his mouth, but then another laugh is filling the room.

“I already won two races, Phil. The best you can do now is tie.”

Phil nudges Dan’s leg. He feels lense tense now, hunched over his DS and smiling. “No, no,” he says. “I declare all or nothing.”

Dan squeaks. Actually squeaks, and Phil can’t help the flood of warmth in his stomach because, oh, that’s cute.

“What does that even _mean_?”

He’s laughing. Phil’s laughing too, leaning forward to poke at the back of Dan’s DS.

“It means, Howell, that whoever wins the last race wins the whole tournament.”

“That’s literally not how Mario Kart works.”

“It is today.”

He selects the next race without Dan’s input, laughing much he would cover his mouth with his hands if he didn’t need to hold the console.

Dan rambles about how it’s not fair for the first lap, about how he’s in the lead for the second, and screeches about being hit by shells in the third.

Phil wins the last race.

Dan screeches about how it isn’t fair as he finishes in second.

\---

He stays in Dan’s room for a long time.

They snack on the candy Dan has in his nightstand and talk between races until eventually the game is turned off and they’re just sitting there. Phil has Dan’s blanket draped over his lap and a pillow wedged between his back and the wall and Dan’s curled up on his side, face pressed against his arm.

It’s gone dark outside. Phil knows he has homework he should work on, but he doesn’t want to move.

“Did I distract you from your video enough?” he says, his void barely above a whisper now.

“Video?” says Dan. “Oh shit, right, I posted.”

He laughs. It sounds almost delirious, but has Phil chuckling too, muffling it against the pillow.

“Yeah, I’d say you distracted me well enough,” he says. “I should check that.”

He sits up on the bed, and pulls his laptop out from under it. Phil watches him open the webpage, the concerned furrow of his brows and the way his teeth dig into his lip as he reads. Dan’s eyes flick back and forth across the screen for a long while before he looks up, smiling.

“They like it,” he says.

Phil grins. “Of course they do. Your videos are good.”

“You think so?”

Dan’s eyes go soft, like they were in the picture, when Phil reaches over and rests a hand on his knee.

“Of course I do,” he says. “Even though I don’t get philosophy, like, at all.”

“I don’t do a good job of explaining it,” says Dan. “But, uh, your videos are good too.”

Phil feels his smile soften. He wonders if his eyes look as happy as Dan’s do. “You think so?”

“Of course.”

Dan stares at him for a moment before turning back to his laptop. He scrolls, reads, and sometimes types, smiling through most of it, and Phil wonders if this is what he does every time he posts a video. He wonders if his own response to feedback is the same sort of bubbly, manic happiness Dan exudes.

He lets his head fall back against the wall and says: “We should make a video together sometime.”

Dan’s head jerks up, eyes wide, and Phil, again, reminds himself to actually think before he speaks.

But then Dan smiles again. “Yeah, sure,” he says.

Phil can’t help but smile back. His whole body feels slightly hot and his tongue is heavy again and all he can manage to say is: “Okay, cool.”

Dan doesn’t seem to mind.

\---

They share the sofa again that week.

Phil sips a drink that tastes like pumpkin and Dan has one drizzled in caramel and they still don’t talk much, not over the myriad of conversations surrounding them. At a nearby table, some girl is talking about an essay she has to write. In line, some boy is talking on the phone about weekend plans.

Dan keeps switching tabs between some paper and a notably not academic looking YouTube video.

He shows Phil the screen when something makes him laugh.

And Phil laughs, too.

\---

The weekend arrives in a blur.

Phil spends them in his dorm room, curled up in his bed with textbooks to read and homework he should probably be working on, and too many distractions. His DS is sitting on his nightstand, YouTube open on his laptop, and he tries, feebly, to focus on the explanation of semantics he’s supposed to be reading.

It’s mid-October already. His room is starting to get chilly at night, and wind whips the walls in bursts of loud noise that would distract him from his work if he was able to focus at all.

He doesn’t mean to end up on Dailybooth.

There’s a notification when he gets there.

Phil opens the message, already smiling. Not many people talk to him mainly on Dailybooth.

_Dan: hey do you wanna film that video tomorrow_

And, from a few minutes later, there’s another.

_Dan: if you still wanna_

_Phil: Of course I do!_

_Phil: Sorry I was doing homework =[_

He means to go back to his work, but it only takes a moment for another message to light up the screen, so quickly it makes Phil wonder if Dan was waiting for his response. He would have been waiting, fidgeting and trying to distract himself, if he’d actually mustered the courage to message first.

_Dan: oh nice being productive_

_Dan: i procrastinate too much_

Phil smiles, feeling his teeth dig into his lip.

_Phil: Does that mean I should refuse to film the video until you get your work done?_

_Dan: not unless you wanna delay it forever_

_Phil: No thank you_

He waits a moment, but Dan doesn’t respond. Not as quickly as he has every other time, and something about it makes Phil’s fingers twitch over his keyboard, his stomach lurching into his throat.

_Phil: Tomorrow sounds good!_

_Dan: okay =D_

_Dan: I thought maybe we could do a q &a _

Phil’s whole body goes warm.

\---

He wears plaid.

It’s bright yellow and autumn-y and makes his skin look a little more pale, his shoulders a little more broad. He’s pretty sure the sleeves make his arms look a little less thin than they usually do. At least, some part of his mind keeps telling him that he hopes it looks good.

He hopes Dan will think so, too.

Something’s squirming in his stomach when he reaches Dan’s door. His laptop is clutched to his chest, his DS in his hand, and he feels awkward when he reaches up to knock.

Dan opens the door almost immediately. He’s wearing dark grey and a small smile is quirking at the corner of his mouth and Phil’s heart lurches. He wishes his hands were free so he could adjust his fringe, because it feels messy now, looking at how Dan’s perfectly straightened his own.

“Hi,” says Dan.

Phil swallows. “Hi.”

“Come on in.”

Dan’s room is less messy than it was last time. He stares at the floor as Phil walks in. Phil tells himself he’s imagining the little spot of pink that seems to be blooming by Dan’s jaw.

“Did you already tweet asking for questions?” asks Phil, because he can’t think of anything else to talk about.

Or he can think of too many things, and none of them seem good enough to say. He can’t really tell, not with his heart racing and ribs sort of aching with the weight of something that’s probably not a big deal, that might not matter outside his own mind.

And maybe Dan’s. He hopes it matters to Dan.

He shakes his head. “Not yet. I thought maybe you could since you have more followers, you know? And we could wait it out together and play Mario Kart or something,” he says. “If that’s okay with you, I mean. If not we could–”

“It sounds okay to me,” says Phil.

He’s smiling now, his chest a little less tight. Dan sounds as nervous as Phil feels, and when he looks up from the floor, he’s smiling too.

\---

They get questions.

Dan scribbles the ones he likes onto a sheet of paper, handwriting barely legible. Phil sets up the camera, because they have the same one and it’s easier than trying to figure out what he wants to actually talk about in the video, what people want from them.

That’s never really been his strong suit.

“I think we have enough,” Dan declares.

Phil looks up. Dan’s sitting on his bed, grinning, a piece of paper clutched in his hands. Phil’s heart lurches.

This time, he knows it’s going to happen before it does.

All he can see is an older, softer version of Dan again, hair curly and dimples popping, eyes gleaming. He’s sitting on a checked bedspread, blue and green like the one Phil has back at his parents’. There’s a different, better camera filming them.

He has cat whiskers drawn on his face.

They look strangely adorable.

Older Dan – future Dan, Phil thinks – scrunches up his nose. “Can you believe we’ve done ten of these?” he says. When he laughs, the corners of his eyes crease.

Phil’s heart is _racing._

When he blinks, present Dan is back, staring at him.

“You did that thing again,” he says. “Where you zone out.”

Phil shrugs. “Yeah. Happens.”

“Okay. You ready to film?”

Phil nods. He tries not to think of future Dan, but present Dan is sitting on the floor next to him, reaching forward to turn on the camera, and he can’t help it.

“Wait.”

Dan looks back at him, brows furrowed. “What?”

“I have an idea,” says Phil. His throat feels tight. This whole thing feels silly. “Do you have a Sharpie? I wanna draw cat whiskers on our faces.”

He half expects Dan to call him crazy. His whole body feels ready to cave in on itself, his mind yelling at him that he shouldn’t have said anything, that he’s probably just going insane.

But Dan laughs, loud and happy. “What are you like psychic or something?” he says.

Phil’s heart stops, just for a moment. “What?”

Dan throws the paper of questions at him. “We got a question about that. Like, exactly that,” he says. “I was trying to figure out if I’d forgotten that you have a habit of drawing cat whiskers or something.”

“Oh,” says Phil. He looks down at the paper without bothering to read any of it. “Well, we should do it.”

“We should,” says Dan.

And he turns on the camera.

\---

The video ends with them a tangled heap on the floor.

Phil’s heart is racing again, his breaths coming too quick. His chest is pressed against Dan’s, arms framing his shoulders, and he’s not entirely sure how they got here except that it’s his fault and Dan doesn’t seem all that angry about it.

Not at all. He’s laughing, the happy, giggly kind that Phil never expected to hear.

“Why’d you do that?” he asks.

Phil shrugs. Dan’s still lying beneath him, not trying to push him away, and his brain feels too muddled to come up with an answer. He’s not even sure he knows why. It just happened.

It just sorta feels right.

He swallows and pushes himself off Dan, rolling onto the floor. Phil’s heart is pounding so hard he’s sure Dan can feel it, even with the space between them. He wonders if Dan notices how quickly he’s breathing.

Dan’s breaths are coming fast, too, though, in little bursts of laughter that make Phil’s cheeks flush pink with embarrassment and that strange thing Dan makes erupt in his stomach.

He turns his head. His fringe flops awkwardly over one eye, and Dan laughs again.

“Was that really the most fun you ever had?” asks Phil.

He wants to slap a hand over his mouth afterwards, but Dan just grins.

“It’s up there for sure,” he says. “We should do it again sometime.”

Phil tries to ignore the voice in his head saying _can you believe we’ve done ten of these,_ over and over and over again.

\---

Dan comes over to Phil’s unit next time.

They don’t film. Dan has a textbook tucked under his arm and his DS in the other and head dipped and Phil tries really hard not to stare. He’s starting to think that maybe he should stop questioning the fluttering in his chest. The way his cheeks go warm when he sees Dan smile is starting to make it obvious.

“You gonna invite me in, mate?”

Phil jumps, forcing a laugh. “Right, of course.”

Dan walks in and drops onto Phil’s bed without hesitation, like he belongs there. Phil wishes he had his duvet from home, slightly different but still blue and green like the one his mind seems to imagine in his future.

With Dan.

“Do you mind being productive for a bit?”

He tries not to jump again, but he must fail because an amused grin cracks across Dan’s face.

“Lost in your own head again?”

“Uh, yeah,” says Phil, because he’s pretty sure _you’re distracting_ isn’t a proper response. “Stressed. I have a big test coming up.”

“Oh,” says Dan. “On what?”

Phil shrugs. “X bar notation.”

That makes Dan’s face scrunch up in a way that as far too cute for Phil’s brain to process. He distracts himself by fluffing his pillow.

“I don’t know what any of that means.”

“Neither do I when you wax poetic about … Plato?”

Dan laughs so loudly it seems to echo off the walls, and Phil can’t _not_ look to watch the way he clutches at his stomach, head thrown back against the wall.

“When have I ever waxed poetic about _Plato_?” he says, words squeaky with laughter.

Phil’s chest goes tight. He tries not to wonder if Dan will still laugh like that once they’ve filmed ten videos. _If_ they even make it to ten videos.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Have you?”

Dan shrugs. “Don’t know. Don’t think so,” he says. “Plato’s philosophy is a little outdated and based on a lot of misinformation, even if it foundational to many modern ways of thinking.”

Phil stares, and blinks, and stares more.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

\---

It’s not the last time they study together.

Dan comes over a lot, with a different textbook to read. He plops down on Phil’s bed and opens the textbook over his lap and reads as Phil tries to focus on his own work. Usually, after a few hours have passed, he ends up curled up at the foot of the bed, wrapped around Phil’s duvet, his head by Phil’s knee.

By then, they’re usually ignoring schoolwork and talking instead, or playing games, or watching YouTube.

Or, sometimes, they just sit there, silent, as Phil tries to regulate his breathing and listens too intently to Dan’s.

Today, they’re lying like that. Dan’s hand is wrapped around Phil’s blanket, his face squished against the pillow Phil offered him. His textbook’s fallen aside. So has Phil’s, though he doesn’t remember moving it away, doesn’t care enough to try.

Dan’s hair’s a little wavy today, and his smile is happy, and Phil wouldn’t be able to focus on noun phrases no matter how hard he tried.

Except maybe _the pretty boy_ , or _the pretty boy in my bed._

“Whatcha thinking about?” says Dan.

He rests a hand on Phil’s leg. Phil forgets how to breathe.

“Finding the head of the PP,” he blurts.

Dan bursts out laughing before Phil even realizes what he said, curling in on himself. His hand tightens around Phil’s ankle, and his forehead presses against Phil’s foot and he’s not going to figure out why Dan’s laughing, because Dan’s _touching_ him and Phil can’t _think._

“Do you even realize how that sounds?” says Dan, all squeaky and high pitched and Phil really, really _doesn’t_ because his heart is racing and his mind has gone blank. “Last I checked, the heads of _pee-pees_ aren’t that hard to find, mate.”

_Oh._

Phil feels his cheeks go red.

“That’s not what I meant!”

Dan giggles. His whole body seems to shake with it. “Sounded like it.”

“Well it wasn’t,” hisses Phil. He reaches down, planning to shove at Dan’s shoulder.

He ends up touching his hair instead.

Soft, wavy hair.

Phil’s breath catches. Dan stops laughing. His head is so close to Phil’s knee that if he moved just a little, he’d be lying in Phil’s lap and Phil would be playing with his hair and that mental image is just a little too much for his brain to process. Not he doesn’t picture it anyway, with all the vividness of flashes into the future that his brain supplies.

He hopes this is part of their future. He can’t even pretend he doesn’t anymore.

“Whatever,” says Dan. “If you want to find the heads of pee-pees than you can do it. It doesn’t bother me.”

Phil’s heart is racing again, _still._ “Is that your weird way of saying it’s fine if I like guys?”

He doesn’t mean to ask it. He clamps his mouth shut as soon as he realizes what he asked, teeth clicking so loudly it seems to echo off the walls. His hand is still in Dan’s hair and he’s not sure if it would be more awkward to move it now or leave it there, resting against the top of Dan’s head.

“Not really my intention,” says Dan, chuckling softly. “But, I mean, it’s fine if you do. It would be, uh, a little hypocritical of me otherwise.”

“Oh.” Phil’s pretty sure his mind’s stopped working. And his lungs. And his heart. And the rest of his body. “So you–?”

Dan looks up, and Phil’s hand slips from his head, landing on his shoulder instead. He can’t bring himself to move it, not now, not when an off-hand comment about his schoolwork has spiraled into, well, _this._

“Yeah,” says Dan. “Do you, you know, actually?”

Before uni, Phil might have said he wasn’t sure. He hadn’t been. But Dan’s lying in his bed and Phil can’t really ignore it anymore.

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

Dan smiles and lays his head back down on Phil’s bed, like it’s nothing.

Maybe, Phil thinks, it is.

\---

Nothing much changes.

Phil’s not sure if things were supposed to. Dan’s the first person he’s ever really told for sure that he likes boys, and one of the first people Phil knows likes boys too, and it feels like maybe it should have. But it also feels perfectly normal when he shows up at Dan’s door with his DS and a multiplayer game and all Dan does is smile.

They still curl up at the foot of each other’s bed. Phil’s second pillow has the faintest smell of Dan now. He wonders, lying in bed, mind racing too much to sleep, if Dan’s smells of him.

They still have coffee together at Starbucks, too, sitting on a sofa Dan has claimed as theirs, reading on separate laptops, talking when they get distracted. Phil tries to convince his mind it’s nothing like a date every time they walk back to halls together and go their separate ways right outside Dan’s door.

Dan always plays with his fringe when they say goodbye, smiling in that shy way that makes his dimple twist in his cheek and has Phil’s heart going warm.

He tries to tell himself it’s not a crush. By Halloween, he’s given up.

Dan’s sitting at the foot of his bed, legs curled up towards his chest, staring at Phil over the top of his textbook.

“You have any plans for tomorrow?”

Phil shrugs. “Not really,” he says. “You?”

“I was just gonna get a lame costume and go out. There’ll be a bunch of parties on campus, for sure,” says Dan. “Do you want to come with me?”

He’s never really liked parties and doesn’t have costume,, but Dan looks as uncertain as Phil feels and somehow he ends up nodding.

“Sure, sounds fun.”

\---

Dan dresses up as a bear.

He’s wearing a fluffy top and paws on his hands when he knocks on Phil’s door. His fringe, which Phil’s only seen wavy a few times, swoops over his forehead in little curls that make his whole face look softer.

His whole body looks soft, like a big teddy bear.

Phil tries not to think about how nice it would be to cuddle.

“I feel underdressed,” he says instead. His headband of cat ears feels way less adorable than Dan looks. “I didn’t have much time to find a costume.”

Dan’s smiling, though. He slips into Phil’s room without a question. “I know what can make it better.”

“What?”

He reaches into the pocket of his jeans, grinning, and pulls out a Sharpie.

“Cat face pen!”

Phil feels himself blush the moment he says it, but Dan’s smile just goes soft and content and he’s staring at Phil like it means something.

“It’s perfect,” he says, motioning to Phil’s head. “Come here, I’ll draw you some whiskers.”

He rests his hand on Phil’s shoulder to draw him closer, so there’s so little space between them Phil could take a step forward and feel the fur of Dan’s costume against his chest. And then his fingers are skimming up the side of Phil’s neck and along his jaw until his palm is just resting there.

Dan’s hands are big, and warm, and there’s a little bit of fur there right now from his costume. Phil has to force himself to inhale.

“You trust me not to fuck up your face?” says Dan.

He’s pretty sure Dan could draw anything right now and he wouldn’t care, but Phil nods.

Dan presses the marker to his nose. Phil blinks.

He didn’t think to expect it this time, when his uni dorm room fades into one of the ones from the future. Dan’s leaning over him still, the pad of his thumb dragging across Phil’s jaw. He has black makeup smudged around his eyes and red around his mouth, dripping down over his chin.

Phil tries really hard not to stare at future-Dan’s red stained lips. He fails rather miserably.

Dan doesn’t seem to care, though. He just laughs and picks up more makeup on his finger before bringing his hand back to Phil’s face.

This Dan has straight hair and is wearing a crisp button up shirt and a cape. It takes Phil a moment to realize he’s a vampire, and none at all to notice the flush of heat that sends rushing down his body.

Dan’s thumb sweeps across his cheek, just below his eye, and he blinks again, watching the present shift back into focus.

“You’re staring,” whispers Dan.

“I– You need a nose, too.”

Dan smiles. He’s so close Phil could reach out and touch the upturn of his lips. He snags the marker from Dan’s hand instead.

He draws a black nose, and then presses dots onto cheeks that he’d kinda like to kiss.

\---

Phil drinks some at the party.

People hand him beers and at some point there’s a drinking game that has him wedged into a corner with Dan and a bottle of who knows what between them. Dan, it turns out, has done a lot more things that university students giggle about at parties than Phil has.

He drinks a lot more than Phil does.

By the end of the game, his head is lolling against Phil’s shoulder and his words are slurred. Anxiety clutches, just a little, at Phil’s chest when Dan’s eyes flutter closed and open a beat too slowly. But then Dan’s hand is sliding over his leg, clutching at his knee.

“Should go home,” says Dan. “Who’re you ‘gain?”

He probably shouldn’t giggle, but he does. “I’m Phil.”

“Phil? Know you,” says Dan. “Wanna take me home?”

“Sure,” says Phil.

He stumbles as he gets to his feet, and then drags Dan up. He stumbles against Phil’s chest, all warm, soft clothes. His hands land on Phil’s shoulders, the fur there tickling under his chin, and Phil giggles again. Dan laughs too, a little squeaky and hiccup-y, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

At least he’s not a sad drunk.

Phil manages to get him out of the house, past groups of people who are dancing and drinking and kissing. There’s a lot of kissing. Phil’s pretty sure his tipsy brain shouldn’t be thinking about kissing when Dan’s standing so close to him. Or when Dan’s hand is drifting around his back. Or when his hand is curling around Phil’s waist.

“Can I tell you a secret?” says Dan.

He’s yelling, words still slurred, and Phil can’t tell if it’s because the party is loud or because he’s drunk.

“What?”

Dan giggles. His hand tightens at Phil’s hip. “I wanna kiss someone.”

Phil’s stomach sinks. They’re getting further from the house now, the music fading into the background. He kinda wishes they could go back, so the beat would be louder than Dan’s voice, so he didn’t need to think about Dan kissing someone else.

Maybe Phil’s the sad drunk of the two.

“Oh, who?”

“Don’t remember his name,” says Dan. “Think ‘m drunk.”

Phil’s heart clenches. He forces a laugh. “You think?”

“Mhm.” Dan nods. “But I know I wanna kiss him. He’s pretty. Was there tonight.”

“He was?” says Phil. He tries not to mentally catalogue every single person they talked to, tries not to let himself think about the fact that they didn’t really talk any one. Dan spent almost the entire party next to Phil.

And then he’s trying not to let his stupid, drunk mind hope.

“Yeah,” says Dan. “Looked cute in his costume. Think he had something in his face. I wanna kiss it.” He pauses, frowning. “Wanna kiss him. And his face. Song there made me think of him.”

Phil tries very, very hard not to think about the cat whiskers Dan drew on his face. “Which one?”

Dan stops walking. They’re almost back at their halls now. Phil kinda wishes they’d keep walking so he could make sure Dan gets to bed safely before he somehow remembers his crush, blurts out a name that isn’t Phil’s in the middle of their walk.

He doesn’t say a name, though. Or a song. He starts humming a very off-key beat a little too loudly. Phil can’t help but laugh, clutching at his own stomach as Dan shifts from humming to singing.

Phil almost chokes when he realizes what song it is.

“Are you singing _Toxic?_ By Britney Spears?”

Dan grins. He tries to snap his fingers, Phil thinks, but he just ends up waving his hand in the air. “That’s what is called!” He starts walking again then, smiling so wide his cheeks must ache. “I don’t think he’s dangerous. But he was dancing earlier and it was cute and I wanna kiss him.”

“So I’ve heard,” says Phil.

They’re at the doors now. He manages to shove one open with his shoulder. Dan’s still clutching at his waist, following his every move with stumbling steps. Dan’s unit isn’t far from the entrance. He could maybe get there without needing to hear anything else about Dan’s crush.

On a boy. With things on his face. Who danced to Toxic tonight.

Phil very much _doesn’t_ think about how he fits all of those criteria.

But when they get to Dan’s room he says: “Do you have a crush?”

Phil’s fumbling with Dan’s key, but Dan’s leaning against the door and he can’t push it open or Dan will definitely go toppling down.

“Uh, yeah,” he says. Because it’s the truth. And Dan’s probably too drunk to remember this anyway.

“Is he cute?”

Phil looks up. Dan’s eyes are hazy, gleaming with drunkenness, but his smile is so sincere and his dimples are deep and he looks so _innocent_ for someone who spent the night taking shots while playing never have I ever.

He smiles. “Yeah,” says Phil. “He’s really cute.”

Dan just grins, and eventually lets Phil open his door and help him into bed. It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep.

\---

Not much changes then, either.

The next morning, his phone chimes with a text.

_DAN: never let me drink that much again_

_PHIL: yeah you seemed a tad drunk_

It takes a moment for Dan to respond. Phil wonders if he’s ill, or if his head aches when he looks at his phone, because he has the mild brewings of a headache and he drank way less.

_DAN: did i do anything super embarasing_

Phil swallows. He’s not sure if he’s relieved or not.

_PHIL: you may have broken out into a public rendition of toxic by britney spears, but I don’t think anyone else was around to see it_

_DAN: oh fuck_

_DAN: did I really_

_PHIL: :D_

Dan doesn’t ask about it anymore, so Phil doesn’t mention that his heart is still racing thinking about all the things Dan said.

\---

November comes with cold winds and heavier course loads.

Phil tends to bring his laptop over to Dan’s now, with his textbook and DS, so he can work on papers and homework instead of just readings. It’s more overbearing now, more weighted. Dan usually ends up sitting with his own laptop open on his thighs, typing for stretches before slamming the backspace and restarting.

It makes a little easier, sharing space that way.

Phil can focus on sentence trees and affixation and not on the fact that Dan’s feet are pressed against his thigh, or how cute it is when Dan’s brows furrow in concentration, or how he has a crush on a boy that he hasn’t mentioned to Phil.

On a boy who sounds suspiciously like Phil.

Okay so maybe Phil’s focus still strays to that more often than it should. But sentence trees get boring after awhile, and he can’t be blamed, not when the boy he likes is sitting right next to him.

He tries to focus on his homework again, on X bar notation and noun phrases, but it seems so tedious now.

“Wanna take a break?”

Dan looks up, fringe flopping over one eye. “Oh thank god,” he says. “Free will is melting my brain.”

“Please don’t tell me we don’t have it.”

He grins. “We don’t.”

Phil groans. “I don’t want to think about that stuff,” he says. “How do you think about this stuff all the time?”

“I ramble about it on YouTube a lot,” says Dan.

He closes his laptop, setting it on the floor by his bed, and reaches for his DS instead. Like he always does when they turn away from schoolwork, he sinks down against his pillows, stretches out his legs so he’s pressed even closer to Phil.

Today, he tucks his toes under Phil’s thigh, smiling.

“And I talk to you. Helps keep me sane.”

Phil smiles back. He wants to reach down, smooth out Dan’s jeans where they’ve bunched up over his shin. He reaches for his own DS instead, occupying his hands by pressing random buttons.

“You’re only saying that because I let you win at Mario Kart,” says Phil.

Dan laughs. “Keep telling yourself that, mate.”

He starts the race. Dan wiggles his toes under Phil’s leg every time he wins.

If Phil had actually managed to get into first in any of them, he might have let Dan win just because of that.

\---

Their afternoons at Starbucks change.

Dan still gets there first. Phil still orders a holiday drink, a peppermint one today because the wind is brisk and makes him think of snowflakes falling from the sky. He goes over, bag heavy on his back, and sits down in the empty space on the couch they’ve all but claimed as their own now.

He listens to people milling around the shop as he waits for his drink to cool down.

Dan stares at his computer for a moment longer before closing it, sliding it back into his bag and smiling up at Phil.

It’s better this way, Phil thinks. He can shift a little closer so his thigh brushes against Dan’s, and blush when Dan points out the cream on his upper lip, and watch Dan’s eyes light up when he laughs. Sometimes, when he laughs so much his whole body seems to vibrate with it, he rests a hand on his thigh and Phil almost chokes on his drink.

He’s sitting so close today. Phil’s whole body feels warm with it.

Dan rolls his eyes at something Phil said. He doesn’t even remember what it was.

When Phil blinks, he watches the present fade away, and they’re sitting in a different coffee shop with different drinks. Dan’s hair is curly again. His smile is content, and Phil tries not to dwell too much on how good it is to see, to know that it’s not strange to him, not anymore.

Future-him must have said something funny, because Dan’s giggling.

“I swear, you’ll never learn to think about what you’re saying before you talk,” he says.

Phil shrugs. Dan rolls his eyes, holds his hand up, pointing at Phil.

“This guy,” he says.

Phil doesn’t have time to check who he’s talking to, because there’s a hand on his leg again, in the present. Dan’s fingers are curled just above his knee, squeezing gently, and Phil’s breath hitches in his chest.

“Welcome back to earth,” says Dan. He doesn’t move his hand. “You ever gonna tell me what you’re thinking about when you drift off like that?”

He thinks about Dan’s rounded jaw, broader frame, wondering how many years will pass between then and now.

“Maybe one day,” says Phil. “Do you wanna come over to mine?”

Dan pouts, just for a moment, just long enough for Phil to think about kissing him.

“I have a bunch of papers due soon,” he says.

“Bring your laptop. I promise we’ll actually be productive this time.”

Dan chuckles. “Sure we will,” he says. “But sure, I’ll be there.”

His hand is still on Phil’s leg as he says it.

\---

They aren’t productive.

Phil knew they wouldn’t be. He’s pretty sure Dan knew, too. And maybe it’s irresponsible. He has a lot of work due soon, too. But he’s pretty sure he can cram his phonology homework if it means he gets to spend more time with Dan in his bed.

Which it does. Dan’s lying there again, curled up around the pillow that smells of him now, Phil’s duvet tucked under his body. His legs are drawn up against his chest, his cheek resting against his knees. Every time his eyes drift closed, they take longer to flutter open.

Phil doesn’t mean to when he reaches down and touches Dan’s hair again. It just looks soft now, so late in the day that the perfect straightening is starting to fade into the slightest of wave.

Dan’s eyes pop open, gaze catching Phil’s. He doesn’t pull away.

Phil doesn’t either.

“You look tired,” he says.

Dan hums, his eyes falling closed again as Phil risks rubbing a gentle circle against his head. “I am,” he says. “Writing about ethics, metaphysics and history at the same time is exhausting.”

“Sounds like it would be,” says Phil. His fingers drift through Dan’s hair, down towards his nape and up again. “Do you regret it?”

He hesitates for a moment before mumbling: “No. Makes me really glad I didn’t take law.”

“Law?”

Dan hums again. He looks back up at Phil, forces his hand to coast across his head, tug his fringe back into a quiff. Phil tries not to wonder if it’s like that when he wakes up, the way Phil’s fringe seems to drift upwards in his sleep. Tries not to think too much about how cute Dan might be when he’s sleeping.

“Yeah. I almost applied for it,” says Dan. “Think my dad wanted me too, but mum was fine with me going for a BA and this seemed more interesting.”

“Oh.” He pauses. His hand stops moving until Dan seems to nudge back into his touch. “I can’t imagine you in law.”

He laughs, the quiet, breathy kind. “Right? I would’ve been a mess,” says Dan. “Not that I’m not a mess now.”

“You’re not.”

The slightest smile quirks at the corner of Dan’s mouth. Phil’s chest feels so tight, so warm, like every racing beat of his heart is too much and not enough.

“Come up here.”

He’s not even sure he meant to say it, but then he’s wiggling to the side until he can feel the edge of the mattress at his back and there’s enough room between him and the wall for Dan to squeeze in to. His heart is pounding, his fingers still running through Dan’s hair as though that will keep him from freaking out.

He doesn’t freak out. Dan lifts himself onto his knees and crawls over, like there’s nothing unusual.

The bed is so small that his chest is pressed against Phil’s side, his cheek against Phil’s shoulder. His whole body is so hot, so close, sharing Phil’s pillow.

He smells like warm.

Phil slides his fingers back into Dan’s hair, slow and hesitant. “Is this okay?”

Dan hums, and Phil can feel it rumbling against him. He wonders if Dan can hear his heartbeat, how fast it is.

“Yeah,” says Dan. “Feels good. Might fall asleep.”

Phil’s heart clenches. “Okay. That’s okay.”

It only takes a few minutes for Dan’s breath to go steady, even. His eyes stay closed. Phil’s hand stays in his hair.

He was right, he thinks. Dan is adorable when he’s sleeping.

\---

Things do change this time.

He expected them to get awkward, that Dan would wake up in his bed and put distance between them again, mumble apologies and never talk about it again. And most of that did happen. He did wake up in Phil’s bed and press himself against the wall when he seemed to realize that he was draped across Phil’s chest. He did apologize.

Phil’s sleep-hazy brain hadn’t wanted apologies, though. His memory of the morning is vague, but he thinks he’d curled his hand around Dan’s hip, pulled him close again.

“Come back. You’re warm,” he’s pretty sure he said.

Dan, he does know, had come back, all warm and cozy and a little tense, but so very, very close.

By the time November fades into December, they haven’t cuddled like that again, but everything else seems to have shifted and Phil’s mind can’t handle it.

Not when Dan rests his hand on his thigh as they have coffee. Or when he rests his head against Phil’s leg as they play games in the evening. Or when he reaches over to adjust Phil’s fringe for him after long hours of trying to do schoolwork.

Phil does it, too. He sits down on Dan’s bed, closer to his pillow than to the end of the mattress. He plays with Dan’s hair whenever a single strand is out of place. He stares over the edge of his textbooks, and doesn’t look away when Dan glances up and catches his gaze.

It feels good this way. It feels right.

\---

The images in Phil’s head start to shift, too.

It starts one day when Dan asks him for input on video ideas and hands him a notebook full of scribbled brainstorming and, reading them, the vision of their future is of a girl asking for a photograph on a public street. One with both of them, together, like this part of their future is supposed to be entwined, too.

“The story about how you got fired sounds funny,” he says, throat tight, itchy with knowledge that feels too abstract to share.

Dan posts the video three days later.

The next time it happens, Dan’s showing Phil videos he really likes on his laptop. They’re supposed to be working, but getting distracted is easy, and this way Dan’s thigh is pressed against his and the computer is resting on both their laps. They’re so close Phil could rest his hold on Dan’s shoulder if he wanted to.

He does want to, but he doesn’t.

Phil just listens to Dan ramble as they watch. He talks so much it’s hard to focus, his voice so high and happy that Phil cares far more about his commentary than anything else.

This time, the future his mind takes him too is far louder, filled the whir of engines and cheers. Phil’s head is whirring at the flash of cars driving by too quickly for his stomach to keep up. It’s worth it, though, because Dan’s sitting next to him then, too, pressed so close and pointing in front of them at something he likes.

“Can you believe we’re actually here, Phil?” he says. “At the actual Grand Prix?”

Present Dan nudges Phil’s shoulder, grinning.

“What’d you think?” he asks.

“It was good.”

“You weren’t even paying attention,” says Dan. “Got lost in your own head again. We can stop, if you want.”

He goes to click of the page, but Phil catches his fingers before he can. “I don’t wanna stop,” he says. “Just got a little distracted, but it’s good, I promise.”

Dan smiles. He puts on the next video, and then takes Phil’s hand again.

\---

December comes with a rush of cold through the uni halls and the final bout of papers before break.

They’re finally productive, with deadlines drawing nearer and winter hols imminent. Dan mumbles as he writes difficult papers, Phil learns from listening to him whisper about his opinion on something called compatibilism. Phil’s sentence trees get messy when he’s distracted, but he manages to get most of them right.

Dan wears jumpers in the winter that make his frame look even smaller, and he lets his hair stay curly when he has too much homework to do. Sometimes, when they’re walking around the uni, the smallest snowflakes start to fall and get caught in the strands, pretty specks of white that make him look so much softer.

Phil’s given up on trying not to stare.

He’s pretty sure Dan stares at him, too.

“You’re not doing work.”

He blinks. Dan’s looking up at him, grinning, eyes shining.

Phil’s used to feeling the universe shift around him now. He’s grown almost tempted to ask Dan what he thinks of it, how weird visions fit into all the metaphysical theories he rambles about when Phil pretends he understands. From what little he’s grasped, he’s fairly certain Dan would be skeptical.

Future Dan doesn’t look skeptical. He’s staring at Phil in the exact same way as present Dan was.

He looks almost fond.

“You really want to write fanfiction about ourselves?” says Dan.

Phil realizes only then that he has his laptop open. Dan does too, on an empty word doc that feels so much more monumental than any school paper Phil’s ever written.

“Whatever,” says Dan. “You’re crazy but I’ll come up with a lit AU.”

“Oh?” Phil hears himself say. “And what will this AU consist of?”

“I don’t know yet,” he says. “Maybe I’ll make myself super famous like One Direction or something and you can be my lowly bodyguard. The fans would love that.”

“Well then maybe I’ll write self-insert One Direction fic. They’d love that, too.”

“Wow,” says Dan. “Can’t believe you’d cheat on me with Harry Styles.”

Phil sticks out his tongue. Dan laughs, and then he’s leaning forward, shoulder pressed tight against Phil’s. His eyes, all crinkled at the corners drift closed and–

“Now you’re _really_ not doing any work,” says Dan.

Present Dan.

He’s grinning, teasing. Phil feels, suddenly, like everything he just saw is playing like a film across his forehead, a fantasy that feels to real to be fiction, but not quite plausible enough to convince anyone else. His heart is racing. His cheeks are so hot he’s sure he’s gone red.

Phil’s pretty sure future Dan was about to kiss him.

And present Dan is still staring at him in the exact same way, like maybe he wants to kiss Phil too.

\---

Phil hands in his last assignment on a Thursday.

Dan comes over that night, hair curly, hoodie too big over his body.

“I’m gonna fail philosophy,” he declares.

Phil frowns. Dan’s not carrying his laptop or his DS. His hands are wedged in his pockets instead.

“All your classes are philosophy,” he says.

“Exactly,” says Dan. “I’m gonna fail all of them.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“Well, I will.”

He walks past Phil, head dipped, and drops onto the very end of the bed. Dan draws his legs up, shoes still on, and hugs his knees tight to his chest, arms crossing over them. He hides his face and tugs his hood over his head, burying himself in a little ball of black fabric.

Dan’s a little taller than Phil. His shoulders are a tad broader, his hips a little narrower.

Like this, he looks so small.

Phil hesitates, just for a moment, before walking over to the bed. He sits down, legs crossed, close enough that his knee brushes against Dan’s ankle.

“Are you okay?”

He expects Dan to say something about how he procrastinated a paper for too long, or how he didn’t fully understand someone’s stance, or didn’t read as attentively as he should have. Those are the things Dan usually complains about when they stay up late doing homework, when stress starts to draw at the back of his mind.

“Yeah,” is what he does say. He rolls his head against his arms, so he’s looking up at Phil. “Is it bad that I’m not really excited for winter hols?”

“You’re not?”

Dan shrugs. “It’ll be good to not have schoolwork,” he says.

It’s not enough. Phil shifts closer, nudges Dan’s legs with his. “But?”

“I’m gonna miss it here. It’s less–” He sighs, his whole body sinking forward with it. “I actually like philosophy.”

“And you don’t like Christmas?”

Dan laughs, so that for a second, Phil can see the dimple in his right cheek, like a small reminder of how much better it is when he smiles.

“No, Christmas is fine,” he says. “More that I don’t like forced socialization.”

“Oh,” says Phil.

He doesn’t know what else to say. It feels like he’s watching one of Dan’s videos, a little rambly and unsure and emotional in ways Phil can’t always relate to. But now Dan’s sitting in his room, on his bed, hands drawn into his sleeves and hood covering one of his eyes and just acknowledgement doesn’t feel like enough.

Dan still looks so tiny, so scared. Phil’s chest goes tight.

He moves back slowly, until his back hits his pillows and his head dips back against the wall.

“You look cold,” he blurts, and it’s plausible. There’s a slight chill in the air because the halls aren’t heated well, and Dan’s hoodie looks like it could be warm if he buried himself deeper in the fabric. And Phil’s not sure that _I want to cuddle you until you feel better,_ is a good enough reason when he says: “Come here.”

Dan’s brow furrows, but he crawls into the space between Phil and the wall that he hasn’t occupied in far too long.

His head settles against Phil’s chest. Phil’s arm wraps around his back.

“We’ll talk over hols,” he says. “Unless that’s forced socialization too. Then we don’t need to talk.”

Dan’s laugh is a puff of warmth against the side of Phil’s neck as he drapes his arm across Phil’s middle and clutches at the fabric of his shirt.

“Trust me, talking to you is definitely not forced socialization.”

Phil smiles. He’s pretty sure Dan is now, too.

\---

They say goodbye on Friday.

Phil goes over to Dan’s and sits on his bed, watching him pack his clothing and textbooks into a suitcase.

Dan’s too distracted to notice when his mind drifts, when reality shifts.

For a moment, the image before Phil isn’t of Dan packing his belongings away. He’s taking them out of cardboard boxes, laying them around a lounge with white walls and a fireplace and furniture Phil doesn’t recognize. There’s colourful chairs by a dining table and knick knacks laid out around the room.

“I still can’t believe we moved to London,” says future Dan. “It’s such a risk.”

“It’ll be worth it,” says Phil.

When the present comes back into focus, Dan’s staring at him, sitting on a suitcase packed to the brim with t-shirts and skinny jeans.

“Welcome back,” he says. He’s giving up on asking, it seems.

Which is unfortunate, Phil thinks, because he’s tempted to actually tell Dan where his mind goes.

He motions to the zipper Dan’s tugging at. “Do you want some help with that?”

\---

They hug in the hallway.

Dan’s suitcase is sitting on the floor. Phil still hasn’t packed anything. His dad’s not picking him up until later and spending time with Dan seemed far more important than having clothes to wear over hols.

Phil’s arms wrap around Dan’s waist. Dan presses his face against the crook of Phil’s shoulder.

“Gonna miss you,” he says.

He squeezes Dan tighter. “Gonna miss you, too.”

It feels like they’re saying more. Based on the way Dan wipes at his eyes when he pulls away, he’s pretty sure they might be.

\---

The first time they text, Dan’s on the train home. He sends a video of the English countryside racing past his window with a message about how boring the endless expanse of snowy fields gets after a while.

Phil tries not to smile too much at the fact that Dan wanted to talk to him so soon as he responds.

_PHIL: Trains make me motion sick :[_

_DAN: they’re pretty shitty anyway_

_DAN: but guess that means ill always have to visit you_

His first response is that he’d take a train if it meant he got to visit Dan, but that feels like too much.

_PHIL: Good thing you’ll be living here for uni! It’ll save you the trip._

_DAN: true_

_DAN: maybe i should just move to manchester permanently then_

Phil can’t not think about the image of Dan unpacking boxes into a flat that they shared. He grins so much that his mum asks who he’s talking to.

\---

They talk on the phone for the first time in the middle of the night.

Phil’s lights are off. The world’s gone dark outside. He wonders if Dan’s curled up in his bed, phone pressed between his face and the pillow. Maybe his hair’s gone curly since it’s so late, or maybe he’s wearing a hoodie again, with the hood drawn up over his head so he’s all warm and cozy even as the winter wind whips outside.

He misses having Dan in his bed. Having his voice in his ear is nice, though.

“Have you played any good games without me?” Dan asks.

He’s been speaking in whispers since the call started, low and sleepy sounding and just enough to make Phil wonder what it would sound like with Dan right next to him in the middle of the night.

“Not really. They’re not as fun without you,” he says, but it feels sappy, vulnerable. “Played some Sims though.”

“I’ve never played Sims.”

“It’s fun,” says Phil. “My Sim just got pregnant.”

Dan laughs. “Living out your domestic fantasies, Philly?”

His heart wedges in his throat. “Uh, no,” he manages. “He got abducted by an alien.”

“He?” Dan squeaks. “I don’t wanna know about those fantasies, mate.”

“It’s not a fantasy,” hisses Phil.

Dan just giggles.

\---

They Skype on Christmas Eve.

It’s so late Phil’s sure he’s going to be exhausted when his family drags him out of bed tomorrow, but Dan’s set his laptop next to his pillow and snuggled up against it and it’s so very worth it. Phil can still imagine the press of Dan’s body against his, the weight of his head on his chest, how he smells like warmth.

The clock at the bottom of his computer screen tells him it’s just ticked past three in the morning.

Phil just stares at the screen and says: “So what’s your favourite part of philosophy.”

Dan’s nose scrunches up adorably. “Don’t make me think about hard things,” he whines.

He laughs, muffles it against his pillow. “You can do that on your own time, I think.”

Dan’s eyes pop open. “Shut up. ‘M tired,” he says. “But uh, I like metaphysics, the meaning of life and all that shit. And identity is fun but I’m not studying that this semester.”

“What does studying identity even mean?”

“Dunno,” he says. “Like what makes a person a person. What makes you you. It gets weird, makes me think too much.”

“But like what kind of questions do they ask?”

“I dunno,” says Dan, again. His words are a little slurred with fatigue. Phil should probably let him get some sleep, but he doesn’t particularly want to hang up. “You’re the creative one. Think of something.”

“You’re the philosophizer one.” Phil pouts. “But uh, like if you and I were in the same body, would we still be different people?”

Dan laughs, a little louder than he usually does when it’s so late. “That is the most you question I’ve ever heard,” he says. “And it’s like, weirdly deep, I dunno. I’ll have to think about it more.”

“Mkay,” says Phil. “You do that.”

“Will.” Dan smiles, just a little, at the computer screen.

He falls asleep a few minutes later. Phil still has the video call open when he drifts off, too.

\---

On New Year’s Eve, they Skype again.

Phil’s family usually watches TV together, playing video games, as the last few minutes of the year tick by, but Martyn went out with friends and gave Phil the perfect excuse to hide away in his room. Talking to Dan. Which he thinks, based on how warm his chest feels, is the superior way to end the year.

“Anything you wanna do in the new year?” he asks

Dan shrugs. “Finish the school year?” he says.

“Same.”

He smiles. “I had a video Idea I wanted to work on, too.”

“Oh?”

Dan’s cheeks go a little pink and his head dips so his fringe is covering his eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “Like, a philosophical look at what love actually is. Might try to post it for Valentine’s Day.” He looks up again. “Maybe you could help me with it?”

Phil’s really, very sure he’s not imagining that Dan’s smile looks a little shy, or that his eyes seem to be shining with something unspoken that has his heart racing.

“Oh. I’d, uh, like that.”

Dan smiles, wide and happy and brilliant and Phil’s chest is so tight he can’t breathe, his mind so distracted he can’t think of anything else to say.

“It’s almost midnight,” he settles on.

“It is,” says Dan. He stares at the corner of his screen for a long moment, fidgeting, before saying: “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

From downstairs, he can hear the cheers start to erupt from the telly. His parents are probably watching together, curled up on the sofa with no kids next to them for the first time in a long time. They’ll probably kiss when midnight strikes.

Dan stays quiet for a moment, and then shakes his head. “Never mind. Wanna tell you in person.”

“Oh,” says Phil. “Okay.”

The countdown starts, a faint echo in Phil’s bedroom. Dan stares at him, mouthing along to the seconds until he grins around one, and his gaze flicks down to Phil’s lips.

Phil stares at his mouth, too.

\---

There’s only a few days before they go back to uni the last time they Skype.

Dan has a textbook open over his lap like he does when they work together back in their rooms. His hair is still curly. He’s wearing pyjama pants. Phil promised he’d look at his books, too, but his attention strays.

A lot.

So does Dan’s.

“Fuck,” he says. “I really should have started studying sooner.”

Phil chuckles. “Probably,” he says. “I should have too.”

“Exams are gonna be bloody miserable.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re supposed to be.”

Dan pouts. “I want a vacation.”

“You’re literally on vacation right now.”

“A proper vacation,” says Dan. He’s closed his textbook now, his fingers skimming the edges of the pages. “Somewhere warm.”

Phil smiles. He closes his book, too. He’s not paying attention to it, anyway. “Like where?”

Dan hums. “I don’t know, Jamaica?”

And it almost feels like a vision when the image pops into Phil’s mind, except he can still feel present Dan staring at him through a webcam. The Dan in his head is at the beach, wearing nothing but a swimsuit and the softest of smiles, standing in the water with waves lapping at the base of his ribcage.

“That sounds nice,” says Phil.

He vows to try to make that one a reality, if it isn’t already part of their future.

\---

Dan gets back to halls after Phil does.

He has a suitcase filled with some new clothes and games he says they should play together and invites Phil over to his room before anything’s unpacked. When he gets there, the suitcase is sitting on the floor, open and messy.

Phil’s mind hadn’t drifted to the future for all of winter hols.

Maybe it was because Dan was so far away, he thinks, because it does it again now. The floor feels uneven under his feet and he’s standing in a room with a single double bed, two suitcases filled with their things and landscape he doesn’t recognize zipping past windows. It takes him a long moment to realize it means they’re sharing a bed in this snippet.

Future Dan says: “Are you ready for the show tonight?”

Present Dan reaches for his shoulder and says: “Phil?”

He blinks his way back to the present again, smiling. “Yeah?”

Dan rolls his eyes. His breath comes out as a laugh. “I asked if you think you’re ready for exams.”

“Oh,” he says. “Uh, not really.”

Dan grins. “Good. I’m not the only one, then.”

“Does that mean you want to study?”

He laughs again, staring at Phil like he’s crazy. “No. I wanna play games. I missed kicking your ass at Mario Kart.”

“Oy!”

“Prove me wrong then, Lester.”

Phil probably should be studying, but he spends the evening playing video games in Dan’s bed instead.

\---

They cuddle in Dan’s room for the first time that night.

Phil’s not even sure how it happens. They play until it gets repetitive, and then their DSes are sitting on Dan’s nightstand, and then, somehow, his head is resting on Dan’s pillow. Dan’s arm is draped across his middle again, his body so close to Phil’s that he can feel the rise and fall of every breath. It feels normal now, like this is something they do.

It is, Phil realizes, perhaps a moment later than he should have.

His hand tightens around Dan’s body.

“I missed you,” Dan mumbles.

Phil hums. He wraps his other arm around Dan, too, resting his palm against the splay of his ribcage. Dan presses even closer, even tighter together. His movements seem jittery when he skims a hand over Phil’s chest, down along his sternum and over his stomach.

And he presses a soft kiss to the round of Phil’s shoulder.

“I missed this,” he mumbles.

Phil’s pretty sure he forgets how to breathe. He looks down, but Dan’s staring at their feet, his curly hair tickling the tip of Phil’s nose.

And, well, if Dan can kiss him, than surely Phil can do the same.

He presses his lips against the top of Dan’s head. Cuddling like this, he can feel the exact moment Dan’s breath hitches in response.

“Me too,” says Phil. “‘M glad you’re back.”

Dan’s tense for a moment, and then he sighs and snuggles closer.

\---

His first exam is the day after Phil’s.

Afterwards, he comes over with no pretense of video games or studying and falls into Phil’s bed. Into Phil’s arms.

“I’m gonna worry about my grade too much,” he says, like a warning.

“Okay,” says Phil. “Anything I can do?”

His fingers skim over the length of Dan’s spine and back up again, across where his shoulder blades jut against his skin and where the slightest touch of his neck makes his shiver.

Dan looks up, cheek pressed against the fabric of Phil’s t-shirt. “Distract me?”

Phil’s too nervous to kiss him, so he presses his lips to Dan’s forehead instead.

\---

“Wanna hear something crazy? To distract you?”

He’s finished two of his exams by then, and Dan’s done three. They’re curled up in Dan’s bed this time, wrapped in a black and grey duvet and lying on pillows that smell like Dan’s shampoo.

“Sure,” he says.

Phil swallows, squeezing Dan’s hip. “I think I see the future sometimes.”

“Like a psychic?”

“Yeah,” says Phil. “My grandmas was a psychic. Maybe she passed down some psychic genes or something.”

“You’re right, that does sound crazy,” says Dan, but he’s not laughing, not like Phil expected him to be. He just lies against Phil’s chest, rubbing gentle circles against Phil’s waist. “What do you see?”

He contemplates lying, just for a second until Dan’s looking up at him with wide, curious eyes.

“You, mostly,” he says.

Dan still doesn’t laugh. He smiles, the shy kind that he usually hides behind his fringe, but he keeps staring up at Phil this time. “Is it nice?” he asks.

Phil laughs, so quietly he’s sure Dan feels it more than he sees it. “Yeah,” he whispers. “It’s nice.”

They’re quiet for a moment. He can hear his own heart racing, and almost thinks he can feel Dan’s, they’re still pressed so close together.

“Tell me about it?” Dan says eventually. “As a distraction?”

So Phil does.

\---

They kiss.

Phil’s telling Dan about fans who watch their videos and then Dan is lifting off his chest, up onto his hands. For a moment, Phil considers apologizing, asking if he said too much or too little or if all these things that his mind seems to have come up with don’t sound as nice as Dan as they do to him.

But Dan leans over him and smiles.

“Do you really think we could do that?” he asks.

Phil’s fingers drift down to his hip. He clutches a little too tightly, scared that Dan will crawl away. “Yeah,” he says. “I really think we can.”

“I want to,” says Dan.

He reaches up, presses his fingers against Phil’s jaw and tilts his head back. When he leans down to kiss him, it’s soft and shy and everything Phil didn’t think Dan would be before they started talking.

He tastes like sugar from the candy they were snacking on earlier.

Phil kisses him harder the second time, deeper the third. He’s pretty sure it’s the superior form of distraction.

\---

Dan finishes his exams second.

Phil’s waiting at their Starbucks sofa when it’s scheduled to end, when Dan shows up with messy hair and twisted clothing and a relieved smile. He drops onto the cushions and takes a long sip of the caramel macchiato Phil ordered for him.

The image of the future flitters through Phil’s mind for just a second, a flash of a different Starbucks with different versions of them. Dan’s holding his coffee cup up to his mouth, grinning over the edge, and there’s the glimmer of a ring on one of his fingers.

Phil doesn’t have to question who put it there. He wonders, for a moment, how he did it.

When he blinks, Dan’s grinning at him. “Nice?” he says.

He nods. “Yeah, really nice.”

Dan nudges his knee, shifting so that their thighs are brushing and their shoulders are pressed together. “Good,” he says.

Phil just leans over to kiss him, to taste the coffee and caramel on his lips, and pulls away smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry for any inconsistencies or typos in this. It's unedited and unbeta'd since I needed to post it right after finishing to meet the fic fest deadline. I hope you enjoyed it anyway though! Oh and come say hi on tumblr [@huphilpuffs](huphilpuffs.tumblr.com)!


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